Monday, November 21, 2016

moving to mexico -- dodging death

Did I ever tell you I decided to move to Mexico when I noticed a lot of men my age were dropping dead around me -- faster than the dollar-peso exchange?

Of course, I have. But for the fact of watching acquaintances keel over, I would have been haunting the halls of the law division with my walker until they found me dead at my desk one early morning.

That is, if I was one of the lucky ones. The Oregon State Bar publishes a monthly bulletin complete with articles on better writing, how to pretend your law firm is diverse and politically correct, and who has lost her law license. Oh, yes, and an obituary column.

Around 2017, I started to notice that at least half of the attorneys, who had been called up yonder to answer for their deeds (and wills), were my age or younger. Some of cancer. Some in ghastly accidents. Most from cardiac conditions.

My "carried out feet first" scenario did not look so far in the future. So, I retired at the top of my game (and income).

I have never regretted it. After living in Mexico for a year, my former employer asked me to return to assist in choosing my successor and training him. I did. Within the first week, I knew I had made the correct decision to retire. Most of the issues I encountered were either badly perceived or defined. I could do that on my own in Mexico.

Oregon State Bar Bulletin still shows up in my postal box -- often three or four months late. I now turn directly to the obituaries (euphemistically entitled "In Memoriam"). And the news is still the same. As I age, I suspect the number of people younger than I will be will increase.

It is sad. After all, there is only so much money you can spend at the end of your life. I would much rather do it living here in Mexico relatively young rather than in a rest home when the inevitable life eater catches up with me.

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